


Golden Valor

by LaNayruNova



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:20:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaNayruNova/pseuds/LaNayruNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Link lost his battle against Ganondorf, he didn't expect the opportunity to save another world but that's exactly what happens.  Three times the Hero of Time awakens to save his new home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Golden Goddesses and New Worlds

He had failed. Hyrule was doomed and it was all his fault. He’d been given such a simple task; just one: save Hyrule. He had failed. But, by the goddesses, he was exhausted. He had spent years travelling through time over vast tracts of land, braving volcanoes and foes, stumbling through the darkness and finally fighting the ultimate evil. It was all for naught.

How many people would now perish under Ganondorf’s rule? How many friends had he lost? And loved ones? Images of Saria, Malon, and Ruto flashed through his head before he finally settled on Zelda. He was tempted to blame her; if only she had not decided to send him back in time. They could have dealt with Ganondorf if he did not have access to the Din’s Triforce. But she had wanted to make the future better; he, Link, had failed in his task.

It was strange though, that he could think at all, was it not? He had been sure that Ganondorf had destroyed him. Another proof was that Link was weightless, floating on the currents of time and empty space. He grimaced before opening his eyes. The next instant, Link regretted this action and squeezed them shut again. It was much too bright and streams of gleaming gold swirled in eddies around him. He would remain here, then, in the blissful dark.

“Hero of Time, awaken.” Or he would be forced to once again take on the mantle of savior and charge into battle. Save the world? Fail again? He would rather stay sleeping, thank you very much. “Hero of Time, there will be time to rest soon. But now you must make a decision.”

A decision? He got to make a decision? Link could not remember the last time he had a hand in forming his destiny. Every choice he had made did nothing to shape him into the man he was. Interest piqued, he peeked out from underneath his golden eyelashes towards the figure watching him closely and perhaps, sadly? He opened his eyes further when he noticed that the world was no longer gold. Instead it was an endless blue with islands dotting the horizon in the distance. “Where are we?”

“Above Hyrule,” the figure stated from behind him.

Link turned and faced her, or what he assumed was a her from the voice but he could not tell for sure as it was under a dark cloak. Only shining gold eyes and a pair of lips could be seen from under the hood. “Who are you? How are we above Hyrule?” Confusion washed over him before he remembered her first statement. “What decision?”

The figure smiled. “I thought you had forgotten. The afterlife can be disorienting even for us. The decision you must make is very simple. You can repeat your endeavor and attempt to defeat Ganondorf once more in your own time or we can wait for the next Hero of Time to take up the Master Sword to battle him. However, this will take time. The sages will use their powers to seal Ganondorf,” – Link swallowed as his thoughts turned to a world without the fiery Zora or his greatest friend – “and the Hyrule will be frozen in time before it is flooded.”

The swordsman gazed across the ocean and with a start realized that he recognized the island across from him. It was the peak of Death Mountain standing peaceful and proud. “What will become of the people?”

“Some will survive and they will live on the winds and waters.”

“Will they be happy?”

The figure paused before a shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Mortals are resilient and somewhat forgetful; the stories of Hyrule, the Darkness, and the Hero of Time will become legends passed down in traditions and myths. They will flourish and multiply in this over world. There will be laughter and tears; birth and death; joy and sorrow. These things are inevitable.”

Link nodded. “And this new Hero…Will he succeed?”

“Yes.”

“Will I if I go back in time once more?”

“Perhaps.”

The man’s eyes closed as he shook his head. His only choice and it was not much of a choice at all. “So what makes this different from any other choice I can make?” He finally asked. “If I go back no one will be saved and there’s no guarantee that I can win or that I will. That’s no choice at all. Everyone I love is gone! I failed them! And I cannot change that!”

“There is a large chance that you will once again fail to save the ones you know and love. There is also a small chance that you will succeed and Ganondorf’s evil will not plague the land for so long.” The figure stopped again. “It seems, however, that you have already made the decision not to attempt another battle.”

“Just one more question,” Link said with a sigh. “What will happen to Princess Zelda? Will she perish?”

“She will live on, protected by anonymity. She does have a knack for that, does she not?” the figure queried with a trace of amusement.

Link let out a hollow laugh before nodding. “She really does.”

“Your decision then?”

“I leave the fate of Hyrule to the future generations.”

“As you wish.” With that the ocean was swept away in a wave of golden light.

“Who _are_ you?” Link asked, stunned by the sudden change and also by the fact that he was still standing and had not been overwhelmed by the light’s intensity. He turned back to face the figure and gaped. The cloak had fallen to reveal that his assumptions about its gender were correct and to reveal her skin. Link dropped to his knee and bowed his head.

A gentle laugh filled the space around him before she responded, “It seems I have partially answered that. I am Farore, the Goddess of Courage. Rise, Hero of Time. There is no need for such deference. I have chosen you as my representative in Hyrule and you have sacrificed much. Rise, for you have yet another choice to make.”

Link rose to his feet once more and gazed at the golden goddess in front of him before lowering his eyes to the ground. “Another choice, my Lady?”

The goddess nodded once. “Your time in Hyrule has passed. You may not return. However, I can allow you to pass on to the afterlife or I can grant you a new life in another world.” Link glanced up, confusion etched onto his face and she continued. “Din, Nayru, and I saw that the creation of Hyrule was a success. Life flourished in the darkness, so we decided to create more. Most have continued on peacefully and without need of intervention but there is one that requires the occasional hero. We call this land Earth.

“Your choice, Hero of Time is this. Move onto the afterlife or take up the role as Hero for Earth. Drive back the darkness; keep it from devouring the life we have worked to fashion.”

Surprise colored Link’s face before doubt settled in. “I have failed at this task on Hyrule. Why would you give me this task?”

“Because your soul is hardy and you have more courage than anyone else I have had the pleasure of watching over. Because you are selfless and you have a light which pierces the darkest depths. I give you this task because you are my chosen one. Do you understand?” The goddess’s radiant smile brightened the space around them when he simply nodded. “Excellent! Now then, the choice is yours. Either will be fine. As I said, it is _your_ choice.”

And yet, it was not much of a choice after all. There were innocent people who had use for a hero, and though Link had failed before, he knew he would not fail these people. He could protect them from the darkness. He would. The goddess had so much faith in him and he could not find it in himself to doubt her words. He would ensure that her confidence was not misplaced. Of course, he would never see Hyrule again if he followed this path but he would not see his home again either way. He would have to make a new home in the unknown. “I will protect this new world, my Lady.”

A soft smile spread across the Farore’s lips. “As I thought you would.” With a wave of her hand another land rushed to them from the distance and they were standing on the edge of a bluff. “This,” she said softly, “is Earth.”

“How will this work?” Link asked, looking around him and then down at the ocean crashing against the side of the cliff.

He started when the goddess suddenly took his hand and brought it to her lips. “When we need you, you will know. Do not worry, you will not be alone.” She pressed a light kiss against the glowing symbol of the Triforce etched into his hand and he knew no more.

In a small village many miles away a small boy opened his emerald green eyes for the first time.


	2. Ballads and Classes

The children attending Little Whinging’s primary school all knew that little Harry Potter was the fastest kid ever. _He can outrun a cheetah_ , one little girl would claim in an awed whisper during gym. _Don’t be daft_ , another would argue, _he runs faster than a jet plane!_ Another kid sitting near them would nod before thoughtfully asking, _do you think he can fly?_ The general consensus of the class was yes; _yes, Harry Potter can fly_. Therefore, when the fifth grader had jumped onto the school’s roof, none of them were surprised although one unlucky child pouted as he handed over his lunch money to a boy who bore a shark-like grin as he took it. 

When the children heard that Dudley would be going to Smelting’s along with a couple of his friends in the fall of 1991, they were ecstatic. Many would have liked to be friends with the Boy-Who-Flew but none were brave enough to face Dudley’s gang of bullies. They considered waiting for a change as the smart thing to do and it appeared to have worked. That’s why those who began attending Stonewall High in the same year were stunned when Harry Potter didn’t appear. _If he doesn’t come_ , one former classmate asked, _who will join the track team?_ Another shook their head. _A better question_ , she said, _is where did Harry Potter go?_ That question was never satisfactorily answered. Their mother’s reply -- “the scoundrel is in St. Brutus’s School for Incurably Criminal Children. He never did give Petunia any rest.” -- didn’t ring as something true. Not for the quiet boy, whose only offense was to turn a substitute teacher’s wig blue, but maybe his cousin. 

Although the children were right in saying Harry Potter had not gone to St. Brutus’s, their assumption that he was drafted into the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen for his ability to fly and his speed – _He’s like a cross between Flash and Superman_ – was also incorrect. In reality, Harry Potter woke up on 2 September, 1991 in between the crimson sheets of the most comfortable bed he’d ever laid on which stood proudly by the window of the second tallest tower of a great stone castle. 

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, according to the book he’d gotten his familiar’s name from, was built approximately 1,000 years earlier by four of the greatest wizards (and witches) of the time. Godric Gryffindor, the brave; Helga Hufflepuff, the loyal; Rowena Ravenclaw, the wise; Salazar Slytherin, the cunning, ambitious, and by all accounts, the evil. Harry, who didn’t like to be called little even if he was vertically challenged, breathed a sigh of relief that he’d convinced the Sorting Hat not to place him in Slytherin. That could have been the most disastrous event in his life right after Voldemort murdering his parents and going to live with the Dursleys. As fate would have it, he wound up in Gryffindor instead. It was the house the where the brave at heart dwell. 

Harry flung the covers off of himself and began to get ready for the day with his new friend Ron Weasley by his side. Together they charged through the halls of the exorbitantly large castle and burst through the doors of a classroom, ready to battle a rampaging dragon. 

“Whew! We made it!” Ron said happily. “Can you imagine the look on McGonagall’s face if we were late?” At that moment the cat which had been sitting on the desk, jumped off and turned into none other than the stern Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor, Minerva McGonagall. Harry would rather have faced a fire-breathing dragon. 

Those existed, right? “Weasley, Potter. Perhaps I should transfigure one of you into a pocket watch, so you won’t lose track of time?” 

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry started. “We got lost.” 

“A map, then.” McGonagall turned and walked back to the front of the room. “Take your seats; I trust you don’t need a map to find them.” 

The rest of the class proceeded without any incident although Harry did learn that the bushy-haired girl was named Hermione Granger (he didn’t know how he’d forgotten such a unique name as Hermione in less than twenty four hours) and that she had photographic memory. He wasn’t sure if that translated into intelligence but it certainly was going to help her loads in Transfiguration. He also discovered that it would not help him in the least and resolved to read his school books more thoroughly. He would have to if he had any hope of understanding what Hermione and the Ravenclaws they shared Transfiguration with were saying. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall was a good teacher and managed to decode. 

The first year Gryffindors had Potions next with the Slytherins which immediately set Ron off in a tirade against the snakes. Harry agreed with his friend absently. After dealing with three of the kids who wound up in Slytherin on the Hogwarts Express, he could honestly say they were not endearing. They did, after all, insult Ron without being goaded. Well, Malfoy did at least. The other two were thicker than Dudley on a bad day. The Gryffindors filed into their seats after the Slytherins and waited for their professor. 

Professor Snape was dubbed, by the majority of the Hogwarts populace, the Dungeon Bat. Harry understood why when the professor stormed into the dungeon, fashionably late, with his long black cloak fluttering open behind him. Harry was momentarily reminded of Meatloaf’s song, _Bat Out of Hell_. Then Professor Snape began to speak. “There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class…” Harry’s vision of Meatloaf dashed on the mountains surrounding Hogwarts. Ron was already muttering about the “greasy bat” but Harry was now latched firmly onto the idea that Snape was more like a panther; an admittedly greasy panther. He spent the period prowling between the cauldrons, growling at unsuspecting Gryffindors, and praising his Slytherins in purrs. All of this was after he’d feasted on Harry’s excitement for the class and regurgitated a purely hellish experience. 

He had demanded that Harry answer questions that he knew were not in the first year Potions book. Harry knew this for certain because Hermione had mentioned it afterwards. When asked how she knew all the answers then, she had admitted that she had gotten a few extra books to supplement some of the information that might be common knowledge in the Wizarding World ̶ _and I was right, wasn’t I?_ \- She had a point but Harry frowned. Wasn’t it unfair for Snape to expect students to know information they weren’t yet responsible for? 

“No,” Hermione answered. “Teachers do it all the time. It shows that a student is taking the initiative to learn. Just because you didn’t prepare for class doesn’t mean Professor Snape is wrong for asking those questions.” 

“But I did read,” Harry responded. “Those topics weren’t addressed in the school books. Well, not in the first five chapters, at least.” 

Ron was stunned. “You both read?” 

Harry nodded. 

Hermione also nodded with an expression of distaste on her face as she came onto a startling revelation. “You mean you haven’t read at all?” 

Ron shook his head. “’Course not. We read the chapters here, don’t we? There’s no sense in taking away from my summer to do school work. I have plenty of time.”

“That’s irresponsible and childish. You should read _all_ of your school books before the school year starts so that you’ll be prepared for the year.” 

Harry sighed and walked away as his friend and Hermione argued with each other. Even though Harry didn’t like it, he had to admit that Hermione had a point. He had entered an entirely new world full of people that he knew next to nothing about. Did they speak the same way? Did they fall under the authority of the Queen or did they have their own government? What types of work did they do – wizards didn’t need maids or mailmen, engineers or taxi-drivers – and how did they decide their career choices? How did they entertain themselves? What type of food did they eat? What other species did they keep as pets? What were there beliefs? Did they have a God? 

The boy with sable hair didn’t have a god himself – he’d never went to Church with his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley though he knew that they subscribed to the Church of England – but he found himself lingering over this question. It took a certain amount of daring to leave a world that he knew for one he didn’t even know the holidays for but to enter it without knowing a thing was foolhardy. Harry should have thought to research a bit more. Hell, he didn’t even know about Voldemort and his Death Eaters except that they were bad people and that only through hearsay. _Although killing for any reasons is bad so there’s really no difference_. 

His classes for the day were over, so he decided that maybe the best place to go was to the library and find out exactly what this world was about other than the fact that he could do magic – _and isn’t that wonderful!_ \- Surprisingly there were other students sitting around round tabled in the library with their heads already buried in books with stacks piled high next to them. They didn’t so much as glance up when he entered and strolled down the aisles in search of answers. He found a promising book in the History Section; _The Rise and Fall of Dark Magic in the British Isles: A Brief Overview of the Dark Lords and Their Objectives (950 A.D to 1981 A.D.)_. The length of the title and the intimidating thickness of the tome defied the idea that it could possibly be “brief,” but it covered a wide range of time so Harry figured it couldn’t hurt. 

He wrestled the book down from its perch and continued perusing the shelves grabbing titles such as _Myths and Legends of Magic, Traditions of the Pure, Of Quadpot, Quests, and Quidditch_ , and his personal favorite _Don’t Eat with Your Feet, Don’t Wink While You Blink: Etiquette for Dummies_. Technically, Harry’s reading selections wouldn’t help him in the slightest with his classes. But, he thought as Madam Pince eyed him critically before checking out the books, _at least I’ll know a little more. If not, then I’ll be entertained. Why does Hogwarts lack weekend activities?_

Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor tower stopping only to give the Fat Lady the password and climbed through the portrait hole. The common room was filled with students and Harry stopped to listen to two people talking to each other before remembering that eavesdropping wasn’t very polite and really, why should he care that Gemma Farley and Terence Higgs were dating? Answer: He didn’t. He kept looking for a place to take a seat. The floor looked comfortable – _not that there’s anywhere else to sit_ – so Harry plopped onto the ground by the window and began reading. Fifteen minutes later Ron joined him muttering all the while about know-it-alls, nightmares, and chess. Harry ignored him until he heard something strange. 

“Don’t tell me you’re reading too?!” Ron groaned. “Honestly, doesn’t anyone here do anything fun?!” 

“You know, I was wondering the same thing not too long ago. They don’t really expect us to sit around the common room all weekend do they?” 

Ron stopped complaining long enough to contemplate this question and look horrified by the conclusion he seemed to have reached on his own. “My brothers never mentioned anything that sounded even a little bit fun. Not until third year. Third years and up get to go to Hogsmeade for a few hours on the weekends.” 

“Only two or three times a year,” Hermione answered from somewhere above them. Ron groaned again but Harry looked at her questioningly. “It was in the packet that they gave with the school’s information. There are also clubs you can go to during the week but nothing to do on the weekend. It was one of the reservations I had about coming here.” She took a seat on Harry’s other side, leaving Harry sandwiched between the two, and asked, “What are you reading?” 

“Myths and Legends of Magic. It’s good so far. The stories are cool though I kind of like the Greek myths better,” Harry responded as he turned to the next page. “Apparently, there’s this immortal who controls the flow of time and can bring someone back to the past if they sacrifice a part of themselves. I think they’re talking about blood but I’m not sure. Anyway, the immortal is said to bring you to your soul-mate if your soul-mate isn’t from this time.” 

“That’s…weird,” Hermione said scrunching up her nose. “I can’t imagine anyone who would be willing to go back in time just to find their soul-mate though. It’s a lot to give up.” 

“Yep.” 

After a moment, Hermione pulled out a school book and began to read leaving Ron the only one not reading something. “You’re joking, right?” Neither of the other two looked up so Ron sighed and pulled out his own textbook as he grumbled about people taking their studies way too seriously. Across the room, Percy Weasley looked over towards his little brother and his friends expecting to see him playing around. Instead a smile spread across his face. Maybe his younger brother wasn’t a lost cause after all.

Harry looked at the last story of _Myths and Legends of Magic_ and was surprised to see that it was written in verse. The book thus far had been composed of mostly summaries of the stories which it referenced (contributing to the reason why the book was so thin) interspersed with very short narratives. None of them though were told in the form of poetry and after a brief questioning of some of the older students he’d found that it wasn’t a popular form of literature in the Wizarding World. Shrugging it off as something that was their loss, Harry began to read.

__  
Above the white stone walls of Sages,  
Over the rolling hills forever green  
Floats a golden treasure in wait  
For the one who will reign supreme.

_The city awaits its new Hero_  
As sealed in slumber, all  
Stands still in Time  
Awaiting one who will make darkness fall 

_Its people said he could not fail_  
For in the hands of evil, light  
Will fade, its beams too weak and it  
Would never pierce the night. 

_In the end,_  
Or perhaps the beginning  
The Goddess hearing prayers for peace  
And joy looked and seeing the evil winning 

_Rushed to aid her precious ones;_  
For each of us is her blessed child.  
The evil man she sealed away in time  
To wait for a new hero to be styled. 

_Above the white stone walls of Sages,_  
Over the rolling hills forever green  
Floats a golden treasure in wait  
For the one who will reign supreme. 

_The Hero felled by magic most evil_  
Was caught by golden arms entwined  
With green and life, offered him  
A second chance to save children of another kind. 

_Lifting his gleaming sword skyward,_  
Courage and valiance filled him once more.  
His task is to keep the darkness at bay  
And twice he has returned to life as before. 

_Above the white stone walls of Sages,_  
Over the rolling hills forever green  
Floats a golden treasure in wait  
For the one who will reign supreme.  
  
“What was that?” asked a sixth year quietly after Harry had finished. He should have known that he would wind up reading aloud. For some reason he always did with poems so he never read them at the Dursleys. 

“It’s called ‘The Ballad of the Goddesses,’” Hermione answered looking over Harry’s shoulder. “According to the book it was written about 500 years ago but someone must have translated it into modern English since then. It was probably the editors.” 

“The Hero returned twice before,” Dean Thomas, one of Harry’s dorm-mates, whispered. 

“Godric Gryffindor and Myrddin Emrys,” a seventh year boy who the first years couldn’t identify began, “were rumored to actually be the same person reincarnated. A lot of their abilities in the stories about them are similar which probably attributes to the rumor but they also are said to have been marked by a three golden triangles on their right hand.” 

“The kiss of courage,” another responded. 

“I didn’t know that story came from a poem,” Percy said looking crestfallen at the notion of not having known something. 

“It’s just a story and none of it is true,” the seventh year answered with a shrug. “Besides, Beedle the Bard is a much better author, Potter. If you’re interested in the stories we grew up with you might want to start with them.” The boy smiled at the blushing first year and slowly conversations returned to normal. 

“I think I’ll do that tomorrow then,” Harry said softly brushing his hair out of his eyes. 

“Might as well, since you’re procrastinating on your homework anyway,” Hermione responded absently, once again flicking through her Charms text. Ron snored quietly from his other side as Harry opened his own school book to start on his Potions assignment due next Friday.


	3. Friends and Flames

In the midst of a sprawling moor stood a small village. From the woods in which a black haired child hid, it looked like a dark smudge against the horizon. Pale blue eyes peeked out from the bush he’d taken refuge in and glanced around. No footsteps sounded and birds sung to each other as they flitted in the thick canopy. Satisfied that he was no longer being chased, the boy stood up and picked his way across the moor, dodging streams and pools of water. He reached the town soon enough and skirted around the edges towards a cottage on the opposite side. No one approached him even though a couple of the kids waved at him hesitantly. He gave them a small smile as he waved back.

He reached the simple wood door, gripped the iron handle, and took a deep breath before pushing it open. Sunlight fought through the gaps in the shutters and sent rays of light across the dirt floor. His shadow stretched across the floor in front of him and he glanced around the single room. It had served as the drawing room, kitchen, and bedroom chamber for its two occupants for the past eleven years…until recently that is. Now, it’s only purpose was to shelter him from the elements.

Winters were always difficult for the townspeople. Food was scarce on the moors as the land wasn’t arable. The main sources of nourishment came from goats, sheep, cattle, chickens, and pigs the townspeople raised. Usually, this was enough and the town survived none worse for wear. This past winter however, was especially trying. A mysterious plague had spread quickly through the village, claiming many of its victims. It started innocently enough; chill, weakness, heaviness. After the normal recovery period however, the disease would instead progress to anguish, fever, and, if unlucky, death. Many were unlucky. The town lost a quarter of its inhabitants; among them the boy’s mother, Seren.

The boy made his way to the sturdy wood table, pulled out the chair, and sat. He still had a couple more hours of daylight; so, despite the chilly air, he would hold off on lighting the hearth. He placed his head on his arms and hid inside the artificial darkness. The weeks since his mother’s death had been hard on the young boy. The residents of Caersws had always been wary of him and perhaps for good reason. Strange things always happened around the fatherless child. Birds came to him when he called, horses calmed at the sight of him, small orbs of light sometimes drifted around him before scattering when they or he noticed them watching. All these things scared them although it was normal for the boy. He knew what they whispered, though; he was rumored to be the son of a demon.

Sometimes he wondered if it was true. After all, Seren had never mentioned his father. Now she was gone and the people’s respect for Seren would not protect him from the villagers of Caersws much longer. Already those boys, not quite young men but not considered children, had given him chase while he sought dittany and nettles in the underbrush. Seren had taught him the value of different herbs and tinctures, so he would keep her instruction close to heart. Besides, both were very useful for any injuries he might get attain. Anyway, the other boys…they would return soon enough. His home was no secret.

A clear, high-pitched voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hey, Myrddin, are you sleeping? Why are you always sleeping? You’re so lazy!”

The boy, Myrddin, lifted his head off the table and smiled at the source of the voice. A small orb of light. That’s all most people would be able to make of it, but Myrddin could see beyond the light itself and into its source. Inside the halo of light was a small person, girl in this case, with fluttering translucent wings and teal hair. “Hello, Nynn. I’m not sleeping.”

“Well, it looked like you were. Come on, let’s play!” Nynn demanded, as she softly landed on Myrddin’s outstretched palm.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” he told the fairy.

“Why ever not?” Nynn asked already pouting.

“Some of the older boys are chasing me and the elders aren’t stopping them,” Myrddin answered. “I think it might be best if I lay low for a while.”

Nynn beat her wings and lifted off his hand to land on the table instead. “That’s not fair, Myrddin. Humans are no fun at all and they’re so mean!” Nynn flopped onto the table top and gazed up at him, blinking her silver eyes.  “Now we’re stuck here.”

Myrddin blinked down at his winged friend and gave her a soft smile. “Why don’t you play with Galan? Or Ryul? You have fun with them, don’t you?”

“Yep!” Nynn nodded, and her long hair floated around her. “But I have more fun with you. Besides, it’s so lonely here. So I’ll stay, OK?”

“Thank you, Nynn.” Myrddin stood up from his seat and glanced out the window. He still had time before sundown, but now with the fairy here, he would need to keep the cottage warm. He hurried to the front door and peeked outside. No one was out there so he stepped out, dashed to the side of the cottage, and began piling an armful of firewood into his arm. Nynn landed on his shoulder as he gathered the last one and made his way back to the relative safety of his home.

The whole process took only five minutes but when he got back inside and latched the door, he felt drained. Nynn left his shoulder and settled on the mantle above the fireplace. He made his way over as well and threw a handful of dried twigs in the hearth to ignite with the flint he kept in his pocket. After a couple of tries, he had a steady blaze growing and a couple minutes later it was large enough to add the firewood. Nynn watched silently as Myrddin prepared a small stew for himself in the cauldron.

When it was finished he set aside a bowl for himself and filled a small thimble for the little fairy. When he set the thimble across the table for her, her wings spread wide and fluttered. “You’re so nice, Myrddin!” she chimed and hopped from the mantle back to the table.

Myrddin blushed before shrugging. “You’re my friend and my guest. So of course I have to feed you, too.” She took a sip and wings fluttered again. “Sooo yummy!”

“Glad you like it. I never thought to ask, but what do you usually eat, Nynn?”

“Berries mostly, but sometimes we’ll catch a really yummy looking beetle and have a feast!” she exclaimed throwing her empty hands into the air before giggling. “There’s music and dancing, and sometimes our Elder joins in. I wish you could be there; it’s a lot of fun.”

“Sounds like it,” Myrddin agreed as he finished off his stew. “I’d sing for you.” Nynn squealed and Myrddin laughed at her excitement, at least for the moment, he could forget his problems and share in laughter with his most constant friend.

Myrddin had a bag filled with medicinal herbs, unleavened bread, a short knife, dried fruit, spare clothes, and a wool blanket next to his bed. Beside that stood a short sword. His mother had stressed the importance of being prepared for anything and in this area, anything could very well mean the destruction of their home and all their property. Caersws was prone to flooding and bandit attacks in the warm months. Normally Myrddin only slept on the bed when it was too cold to stay on his own, but now with his mother gone, he used it frequently. The linen still smelt of her.

The young boy had drifted off into sleep shortly after dinner and Nynn curled into the bed with him, shielded from the cool night air by his body and his arms. Sleep didn’t take hold of her right away, or even much later, instead she stayed on the brink of sleep thinking about her friend’s situation. She was sad for him and also very concerned. But humans were resilient and her friend, while unerringly sweet, would survive. He would just have to toughen up some; maybe some sword training wouldn’t go amiss. He should have learned to defend himself already but sometimes Seren had been a tad overprotective. But Myrddin was special, so Nynn didn’t blame her. No matter, she would protect him.

It was as this last thought echoed in her tiny head and her eyes drifted shut that the first sound of trouble disturbed her. She jolted from her sleep and rose to her knees, silver eyes scanning the dark room. The fire had already faded to glowing embers so there was very little light in the single room cottage. But whatever the sound was – stealthy footsteps…more than one set – came from outside the cottage. Myrddin continued to sleep, his soft breathing pushed past her in soft gusts of air, partially masking the sound of the footsteps. Her eyes settled on the opposite window where a shadow had stopped, blocking the moonlight.

Another shadow joined the first and harsh whispering came from them. The little fairy fluttered her wings in alarm. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but the tone said enough. They were not friends. “Myrddin, Myrddin wake up!” she chimed. “Myrddin!”

A sudden flare of light brought her attention back to window which had opened outwards ever so slightly. The light – a fire – was pushed into the room and dropped onto the straw strewn across the dirt floor. Almost immediately, the fire caught and began to grow. The fire lit the faces of the arsonists with a hellish orange glow, casting stark shadows over the curves of their faces and in the hollows of their eyes before they disappeared altogether.

“Oh, no. Oh, no! Myrddin, wake up!” the little fairy exclaimed. The child mumbled in the sleep and pushed the blankets off of himself before settling once more. “Myrddin! No, don’t go back to sleep! You can’t. WAKE UP!” Nynn shouted, allowing a shock of magic to hit her friend.

“What did you do that for?” Myrddin murmured, rubbing at his exposed cheek where Nynn’s magic had struck.

“We’re in danger! We need to get out of here!” Nynn looked frantically over her shoulder at the quickly approaching flames and the climbing wall of fire beginning to send tongues towards the door and at the rafters. Myrddin coughed suddenly and his sleep-fogged mind seemed to wake up as he rolled onto his other side and found the source of light and warmth. For a moment, the severity of the situation didn’t seem to register. “Myrddin! Let’s go!” Another shock from Nynn and Myrddin was on his feet, tugging on his leather boots and opening the window cautiously. Nynn flew out ahead of him just as the roof caught fire.

She looked back towards her friend only to find that he wasn’t outside yet. Behind her, a villager, disappointed that the devil child’s home wasn’t burning as quickly as it should, lit another oil drenched torch and tossed it through the open window. Several more villagers followed suit and the exit was blocked by a wall of flames. Nynn’s eyes widened at the sight and her mouth opened. “Myrddin!”

* * *

 

The young boy grabbed his bag and the short sword before turning to follow Nynn through the window. He clambered back onto the straw bed and hoisted himself onto the sill only to see a flaming torch hurled to the window. With a cry he threw himself out of the way and the torch sailed through the window before landing directly in the middle of the room. That would have been fine, he could have made it out had the flames from the torch not licked the window frames and the window hangings. They both burst into flames and Myrddin crawled into the corner of the bed terrified. Thick smoke made the air heavy and the boy coughed harshly.

He clutched his belongings to him and, remembering what his mother had said about smoke, crawled from the bed and onto the floor. He pushed away as much of the straw as he could and continued to make his way to the door against the cottage walls. There were enough gaps that he could take in air despite the inferno that his home had become. Embers and debris rained down on him but he did his best to push on in spite of the fear threatening to overwhelm him. It was only when he reached the door that he realized exactly how futile his escape attempt was. The door was still bolted shut and the metal on the latch was glowing red.

A roar interrupted his progress and he curled into a ball once more as the cottage trembled and a rafter broke in half allowing the roof collapsed. He cried out as he was hit by a falling piece of wood and then he knew no more.

* * *

 

Fairies fluttered over the ruins of Myrddin and Seren’s home doing their best to find the child trapped underneath. Nynn flitted about frantically digging in one place then another, not really seeing through her thick tears. “Oooh, I promised! I promised I would protect him,” she wailed. “I should’ve known something like this would happen. I should’ve done something sooner! I promised!”

She continued to dig through the ashes until she hit something...strange. Whatever it was, was soft and she was able to push down on it but it snapped back into place when she moved her hand away. It was springy. Nynn hopped onto it and it sent her back up into the air, she fluttered her wings to catch herself and hovered over the spot. She rubbed her eyes and looked closely. The surface was translucent but when light hit it, a myriad of colors shimmered on the surface.

“It’s…a bubble?” she asked. Her head tilted to the side and then her eyes grew round. “It’s a bubble.” She lifted her head and fluttered her wings to gain the attention of her friends. “He’s here! Myrddin’s here!”

It took the much longer than it would have taken a group of people, but finally, the combined efforts of the little fairies revealed the boy cocooned in a bubble. The fairies then secured the area around him, creating a web of glittering green to keep the debris back before Nynn pierced the bubble. She couldn’t of course, so instead she dived at the bubble repeatedly yelling at the boy inside.

“Myrddin! How can you be so lazy?! Wake up! You have things to do!”

Galan sighed as Myrddin finally stirred and looked to Ryul. “How can the future of magic depend on such a lazy boy?”

Ryul grinned, baring a mouth full of wickedly sharp teeth, as Myrddin opened his eyes and grumbled a response to Nynn who was now reprimanding him for scaring her. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”


End file.
